and gave you a lantern,
lit by the fire in these eyes…
would you walk naked in the darkness
down the path past the creek,
to the small clearing where stillness waits?
would you sit neath the tree,
bent with time like me?
would you eat from the bowl,
made of the hollow of my heart?
would you close your eyes and listen,
with the ears of my soul?
till you hear the name that god whispers,
borne by the wind of this love….
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how many people are blind?
how many by choice?perhaps you still have jobs,homes, food to eat, medical care.perhaps you have investments,a way to retire….perhaps your family is happy,and well taken care of…i hope so for you!millions of people hurting,millions in need…millions of children hungry,millions who cant get an education.millions enslaved by poverty,millions left alone….people with faces and names.all of these…
the small print
your trembling lips,stopped the tears,and the roar of hungerin the tiny bud opening.the tongue that gropesfor a dropp of rain…seed wrapped in dirt,that sunlight,and turning set free.the smallest things,bring form to shadow.it is in the smallest thingsthat we find the immortal!
rain swept morning…
roll down the face of humanity.redemption, or revival?the hand finds the heart,the eyes see the soul,fear washes away unnamed.cities built of shadows,great smokestacks, vacant shrines.and it’s always the voices,and the faces, struggling,to be heard and seen!man imprisoned himself by nations,sold too cheaply on the block.murders his mother beneath the wheels,never hearing her cry.sacrificing the childrento…
lover, dont lie…
the stray cat sleeps in a cardboard box,the old oak tree groans with morning.table set for three,you, me, and the guest…too long on the road,he’s forgotten the turn,and love’s address is unlisted.the feather drawn lines of arch and thrust,define your eyes with headstones.your hand slips between the bread,tastes better without mayonnaise.the cup of whispers grows…
it is the mystery written
in the broken branch,in the bad place in the road.in the hours between 3 and 4 in the morning,when the spirit grieves itself with prayer.in the cool of the darkness,in the window cracked.in the homeless dog’s eyes,as he stands in the road.in the box unopened for twenty years,in the eviction notice,and the lights cut off.in…
there comes a time…
when the carpenter lays down the hammer,when the lover walks out the door.when the child turns awayfrom childish things.when the mother steps back,and opens the door.when the old man stomps outthe fire with his boots.when the sky falls,and the earth rises.when the poor just will nottake it any more.when the sacred revealsitself in a back…